Train

You'd always dreamed of joining the elite troops that guard the president. "Impossible," everyone told you; no one believed that an ordinary person like you could pass the rigorous selection process and serve faithfully. To prove not only to them but to yourself that joining the elite was possible, you needed training. You'd been training since you were 10, steadily developing and perfecting your body.

Exactly eight years later, you went to the military registration and enlistment office to enlist. The old military commissioner was surprised: after all, for 20 years of his tenure, every young man had tried to dodge the draft. At the medical examination, your physique was classified as category A+, which allowed you to join the elite troops, of which there were many. A meeting was called at the military registration and enlistment office. You were the first to receive such a category.

The decision was unanimous: "special forces to protect the president." Euphoria shook your body. Your dream had come true, despite the many pitfalls and the mistrust of your relatives. A week later, you boarded the train and went to the capital.

Six months have passed. In all that time, there hasn't been a single attempt on the president's life. For the past couple of weeks, you and the other soldiers have been practicing marching for the parade. The president himself attended the parade, along with his son, Thog, who had always been in his father's shadow but was still allowed to appear in public.

As you passed the car, you saluted the President. You stopped in front of the car, as scheduled in the parade plan. Thog leaned out the window and told Dad he wanted to buy you. President TiSun ordered you to stop. You obediently stood still, your hands at your sides. Thog looked at you, your dress uniform; his blond hair fluttered in the wind. Approval was in his eyes.

third-person narrative